


A Storm in the Form of a Girl

by MachaSWicket



Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M, Movie Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 14:19:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1431640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>SUMMARY: MOVIE SPOILERS</b>.  <i>Logan tossed the phone onto the console and started the car, pulling away from the Emperor’s Pool with a muttered, “Happy orgasms, guys.” </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Storm in the Form of a Girl

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS to VictoriaSinclair for the beta work, and to PositiveThinkingforLosers for tolerating my obsessive focus on all things VMM at the moment. :)
> 
> NOTE: title from the Hole song _Heaven Tonight_ , not, you know, sad, dark Nick Cave. :)
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Yeah, these characters are still not mine.

“Child, please. It’s Gia Goodman,” Veronica scoffed, her tone warm and amused even through the phone. “The day I can’t handle Gia Goodman.”

Logan tapped his free hand on his knee with some measure of disquiet. He knew she was right -- she was probably even _more_ capable these days than she had ever been. Wasn’t law school supposed to sharpen all those reasoning skills? But her ability to handle potentially dangerous situations had never really affected whether or not he worried about her. 

He worried about her because he loved her and wanted her safe. _Had_ loved her, then. Now… well, he was worried about her.

So he tried. “Listen, we know it’s not Luke, so you could just wait for me to get ba--”

“You’re two hours away,” Veronica interrupted, “and also the person they _framed_ for Carrie’s murder, so…”

Logan shrugged, even though she couldn’t see him. “I could wait outside.” It sounded ridiculous, even to him, so he skipped to the punchline. “Veronica, I can’t just sit here watching guys pop into the bathhouse for a reacharound.”

She laughed softly. “So come home,” she said, her voice catching just bit on the last word. She was holding up remarkably well, better than he expected after the events -- amazing and awful -- of the day before. But underneath her familiar tough veneer, he knew she was still panicked about her father.

But he also knew Veronica Mars well enough to know not to acknowledge that. At least not when he was too far away to help put her back together if she broke. Instead, he said, “I’m on my way.”

He didn’t think he was imagining the note of relief in her voice when she answered, “Good. See you soon.”

“Yeah,” he answered, and then hung up before he could say anything stupid. Logan tossed the phone onto the console and started the car, pulling away from the Emperor’s Pool with a muttered, “Happy orgasms, guys.” 

LA wasn’t Logan’s favorite place, associated as it was with his mom (who he missed) and Aaron (who he hated). But he’d still spent enough time there as a kid, and then again with Carrie, that he made it back to the freeway with little trouble.

Once on the 5 and headed south, there was nothing to occupy his mind. Nothing to distract him from the chaos of the last few days -- or the last year, if he were being honest with himself. It had taken him so long to straighten himself out, to adjust to living a mostly clean, mostly quiet existence. Then one good year with Carrie, almost half of which was spent on deployment, only belatedly realizing he’d fallen in love with an addict.

Pot and coke instead of valium and chardonnay, but it was too fucking easy to fall back into old patterns, taking care of Carrie the way he’d taken care of his mother. Wishing he were reason enough for Carrie to conquer her demons, despite that brutal, unforgettable lesson he got at seventeen that he could never be enough. 

Sure, that wasn’t how addiction worked. He understood that, intellectually. He read books on the topic during one deployment, earning himself an uncomfortable discussion with the Lieutenant Commander for his trouble. 

But knowing something and _feeling_ the truth of it are two different things. And since his own demons had been mostly defanged by then, he’d been just dumb enough to think he could help Carrie handle hers.

That hadn’t worked out as planned, not to put too fine a point on things.

And as she began to spiral, to hide and lie and get high more and more, as his hard-won placidity faded, replaced by some bad dance club remix of his teenage years, it had seemed kind of inevitable that he would ask Veronica for help. That she’d come when he’d called, however improbable, had seemed like a good omen.

But he’d never expected _this_ , never expected to feel that same connection shudder back to life, that same damnable _awareness_ of her.

He’d known -- known for years, known _for certain_ \-- that this thing between them was over. He’d been so certain, so cocksure. And then she was standing in front of him, and he was ambushed by the truth -- whatever was between them, it hadn’t gone anywhere.

He knew she felt something, too, could read her surprise that even after nine years of growth and change and other people, there was still a _them_ , in some form.

Logan wasn’t dumb enough these days to expect anything to come of it, even once he realized somewhere along the Coronado Bridge that he still inevitably wanted her, in some instinctual, unreasonable way. He was an adult now, and perfectly able to repress his impulses.

Until last night.

Until she let him in, let him _see_ her desire and her despair. 

There was no way to explain that away, to write it off to desperation and chemistry. There was no coming back from something like that unchanged. Logan just wished he could predict the fallout.

He knew what he wanted, understood things perfectly, but he wasn’t that gangly teenager who would do anything just to be with her. And he was pretty sure she wasn’t quite as dedicated to outrunning her feelings anymore. Which wasn’t a guarantee of anything, since she lived in New York and had carefully avoided any conversations about what, exactly, had happened last night.

Logan took the exit for her dad’s neighborhood, impulsively flipping to terrestrial radio, tuning to Rock Hard Rock. “Whitesnake,” he muttered. “Perfect.”

It was silly anyway -- he was at least a couple miles from Gia’s, well outside the range of Veronica’s bug. Logan headed toward Keith’s neighborhood, dialing Veronica’s number.

Voicemail. Logan frowned.

Surely her impromptu “hang” with Gia wasn’t still happening. But when he reached Keith’s place and parked at the curb, the house was still and mostly dark. And the hulking Crown Vic wasn’t in the driveway.

Logan pulled away from the curb, his gaze drawn to shattered glass sparkling in his headlights, remnants of the violent collision the night before. He eased the car around as best he could and headed for Gia’s neighborhood, starting to feel a little uneasy. Which was stupid -- Veronica was probably trapped in some really stupid, cosmo-fueled conversation with Gia about shoes or lipstick or tips on being a believable beard for your gay fiance. 

When he turned onto Exposition Boulevard, a blast of adrenaline hit -- cop cars, their red and blue strobes casting an eerie glow on the low, hulking buildings. Logan inhaled, scrabbling for his phone.

Ambulances?

Jesus, what the fuck happened?

Logan veered to the side, parking rather haphazardly in a tow zone, and jumped out, phone pressed tightly to his ear as he tried her again. No answer. Goddamnit. What were the odds that there was a completely unrelated emergency on Gia’s block? Charmed fucking life.

Jogging now, Logan reached the yellow police tape, unable to see much of what was actually going on through the pulsating lights from the squad cars. “What happened?” he barked at the small group of onlookers.

“Some girl got shot,” someone answered, and Logan’s pulse spiked. 

His breathing must have been out of whack, because his vision greyed a bit around the edges. “Who?” he demanded, “who got shot?”

No one answered with anything other than a couple shrugs. 

It couldn’t be her. This couldn’t be happening, not today. Logan saw a guy in police uniform and ducked under the tape, half-running towards the officer. “Hey!”

The cop turned, started over with a hand raised, indicating Logan should step back. “Sir, I need you to--”

“What happened?” he demanded, his heart pounding erratically. “Who got shot?” 

“Do you live in the building?” the cop asked. 

“No, my--” He stopped, shook his head. He couldn’t handle this. “Veronica Mars,” he said instead. “I’m looking for Veronica. Please.” If someone didn’t answer him in the next ten seconds, he was going to lose his mind.

“Oh,” the cop frowned, glancing back at the hubbub behind him. “I think she’s giving a statement.”

“She wasn’t shot?” He thought he might be holding his breath while waiting for confirmation.

“No.” The cop actually sounded amused, and Logan cocked his head. The cop grinned. “She clubbed him. With an actual golf club.”

Logan bent over, hands on his knees, gasping in air. _Jesus, God, thank you._

“She should be down at the station,” the cop offered, compassion in his voice, and Logan wondered just how unhinged he appeared at the moment.

As the immediate panic abated, Logan started to put the pieces together. “Was it Gia?” he asked, his voice still a little unsteady.

The cop looked conflicted, probably wasn’t supposed to be talking about this, but nodded quickly. 

“Is she…?” Logan couldn’t finish his question. 

“Didn’t make it.”

“Fuck,” Logan whispered. He took a shuddering breath, tried to gather his wits. “Thanks, man.”

Logan jogged back toward his car, ducking under the police tape and pushing past the onlookers, ignoring their questions. He was still shaking a little, still feeling the aftereffects of that hit of adrenaline. She’d just walked back into his life a week ago, he couldn’t possibly lose her now. The knowledge that he’d come close to it, that she’d gone up against a psycho with a gun while he was tooling down the 405, blasting tunes-- “Jesus,” he said again, accelerating because he needed to see her now.

He parked in the first spot he saw near the sheriff’s office and jogged to the doors, ironically kind of thankful for the time he’d spent being interrogated, because at least he knew exactly where to go. Ignoring the deputy at the desk, Logan pushed through the double doors, striding down the hall until he spotted her in an interrogation room.

“Veronica!” It was louder than he intended, and a little desperate, but he didn’t fucking care. He pushed through the door, and she looked up, surprised. And she was up and moving, and then she was there, in his arms, crushed against his chest, and he felt something tight and scared in his chest loosen a bit.

The deputy on the other side of the table watched them for a moment, then excused himself, leaving them alone. Veronica pressed her face against Logan’s chest, and if he didn’t know better, he’d think she was hiding. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. She nodded against him, but he felt the unsteady, gasping breath she took. “Veronica?”

Her arms tightened around his ribs, and she turned her face up to him, keeping herself rigidly under control. “Gia’s dead.”

“I know. There were police and--” He couldn’t explain, but it didn’t matter, because he saw the guilt in her face when she understood what he meant.

“Logan…” She leaned up, kissed him sweetly. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter as long as you’re okay.” He kissed her again, less sweet and more desperate. Her fingers clutched at his shoulderblades.

She pulled back. “I want to see my dad,” she said, “I don’t care what the doctor said, I’m his daughter and I need to see him.”

Logan nodded. “We’ll make it happen.”

“I’m supposed to finish my statement, though.” Veronica glanced back at the notepad on the table. They were too far away for him to be able to read any of it, and he told himself not to push, not to demand that she walk him through _exactly_ what happened so he could torture himself later with all the ways she’d been in danger. She could tell him exactly as much as she wanted to, because she’d hit Stu Cobbler with a _golf club_ , so she’d had a pretty shitty night. 

“Okay,” he agreed. Seemed like a reasonable request. “Whatever you need.”

“My car’s at Gia’s,” Veronica said. 

“I’ll take you to the hospital,” Logan answered immediately. He leaned back, studied her more closely. “Are you really okay? Do you need a doctor or--?”

“No, no, the paramedics looked at me.” Her smile was crooked and a little unsteady. She gestured at the light blue blanket crumpled in the chair. “Just a little shock, but I’m fine now.”

He enveloped her again, eased his fingers through her hair, down her spine. _A little shock_? Fuck. “Okay,” he managed, hoping like hell he sounded strong and reassuring, instead of like the panicked jackass he was sure he’d been back at Gia’s place. “Do you need anything? Coffee or something to eat?”

Veronica stepped back, reaching out to hold his hands in hers. She shook her head, but still seemed uncertain. 

“Veronica?” 

“It’s just -- this might take a while,” she admitted in a rush. “The statement, maybe some more questions from Norris.” She glanced toward the hall, then back at him. “Did you know that Norris is a cop now? How strange is that?”

“Veronica.” He waited until she met his gaze. “I’ll wait.” He paused, not sure how much he wanted to say, how much he _meant_ to say to her right now. But it was true, fundamentally and situationally, so Logan squeezed her hands and said, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Veronica watched him for a moment, her eyes a little watery, then nodded. “Good.”

He smiled down at her, hoping like hell it was some kind of reassuring, even if he was still a little bit shaky. “Hey, Mars?”

She brightened a bit. “What?”

Logan tilted his head toward the door to the interrogation room. “What say we never come back to this fucking office ever again?”

The edge of her lips quirked, and then Veronica was smiling, up at him. “Deal.” 

END


End file.
